Fate in Arcadia, and other poems . shyWhen night had opened all its wizzardy;So called you change, and danger from the night;So waited you with eyes of clouded sight 148 Until the lion wandered near, whose breathShould fill your breast, with whose divided deathA new-divided life for him and youShould there arise, before the early dewWelcomed the sudden sunrise in the fields. Beneath the scented winds the summer yieldsCame, through the warmly sighing air of sudden-footed lion, like a spritePresent without arrival, drawing nearWithout a journey, born of empty came and by the wo
Fate in Arcadia, and other poems . shyWhen night had opened all its wizzardy;So called you change, and danger from the night;So waited you with eyes of clouded sight 148 Until the lion wandered near, whose breathShould fill your breast, with whose divided deathA new-divided life for him and youShould there arise, before the early dewWelcomed the sudden sunrise in the fields. Beneath the scented winds the summer yieldsCame, through the warmly sighing air of sudden-footed lion, like a spritePresent without arrival, drawing nearWithout a journey, born of empty came and by the woman laid him downThere, where she fell in swoon. His bosom brownHe leaned upon her side; his lifted headRaised over hers. She lay in happy dreadAnd drank his deeply-throated breath, and stirredIn trembling of new wonder, while she heardA murmur come from him which seemed to tellHis wish was hers, and he who knew her wellShared her mad change with joy, and gladly wroughtWhat she long wished and he now thus besought:— t;:: MjrS \S. 149 Can we not change at last the dwelling-placeWherein our soul reserves behind each faceThe hidden dwelling of its grief malign,Where we are wisdom, though we still repineWeeping for uselessness of Fate, where stillWe are poor beauty, whose delight shall are wild hunger, whose desire shall thrive,We are mad love, whose poison makes alive ?Why in our peace is left no joy to taste ?Why spend we all calm years in gloomy out storm-born hours, if there by chanceSome lightning-shaft may reach its slender lanceTouching our hearts to force new pleasure through,And open out as dead leaves to the dew,When cold night chills upon a forest burned ?Might we not mend the hunger we have learnedDivided in your soul and mine lifting from our shoulders warm and steepThe sadly-bending head that mourns our dreams, while still the heart of beat on beneath in deep unrest. I50 Even as each now triumphs in our
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